It always comes to this.
I push away from you like a balloon batted by the wind from a frantic child
trying to grab a hold of something they once took so simply
Only to have it's cloud-coloured string
slip away to join it's siblings.
You're just as elusive, now.
I've missed you.
I never know how much until it's too late
and like that same balloon flown to it's breaking point
everything pops and goes to tatters
as if it thought it, too, could be a star but could not handle the pressure.
You would've held me in the cold void, and held it everything else off.
I would've shone.
But I had to break away from the hand that anchored me where I was needed.
But now I am nothing more than full of empty air and surrounded by just the same...
Full of chemical combinations that unfathomably wanted to be constellations
because they could never see the beauty in themselves.
I'm stuck in the stratosphere
and now the pressure is getting near.
The pop is above me and happiness all of which beneath me.
And just as I'm about to burst into an unnoticed and unsavable supernova...
You grab my string.
And that is all I needed to float happily home again.